Silk and Scrubs
by waterlilylf
Summary: When Dr. Trowa Baron picks up a blond on a whim in a nightclub, he has no idea that he'll have to set out to convince Quatre's best friend (and possibly his dog) that he's The One for this cute yoga teacher... Yaoi. 3 x 4 get together.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own the Gundam Wing universe and make no financial profit from writing.

Note: As always, many, many thanks to Kaeru Shisho for editing and all the rest of it.

**Silk and Scrubs:**

It was, Trowa decided bitterly, all of a piece with the general shittiness of the past twenty-four hours that, when he'd finally finished the paperwork for the death he'd had to call during his shift (a six-year-old with leukaemia, and life was so fucking unfair sometimes, and what was the _point_ of being a paediatrician if you could only sit by and watch a little girl die?), and taken a shower (cold, damnit, because the water heater in the doctors' locker room was broken again), and dumped his scrubs (which had almost had to be peeled off) down the laundry chute, he ended up heading out of the hospital at exactly the same time as Mueller.

Because the guy was a fully-certified, grade A, copper-bottomed asshole, he didn't even have the decency to keep quiet as they walked down the corridor, yammering on about the pretty new nurse in Paediatrics and how she'd already turned down three invitations to the hospital's annual ball. (Sensible girl; it was always a nightmare, and Trowa was already planning his own excuses. (Well, assuming Quatre didn't decide he would like to go)).

Trowa blinked as they walked out into actual daylight; eyes adapting after hours of fluorescent lights in the wards.

'I'm not interested,' he said shortly, cutting into Mueller's rambling speculation about whether she was single or not.

'No,' the bastard gave him a sidelong glance. 'I suppose you wouldn't be, would you?'

Trowa didn't go out of his way to hide his sexuality at work, but he didn't exactly broadcast it either and most people respected that. Mueller didn't. There were slyly pointed comments; jokes that just fell short of the hospital's strictures of harassment and bullying.

He'd met Quatre just the one time, at a hospital fund-raiser and Trowa had wanted, very much, to knock his teeth out at the way his gaze had flicked over Quat. His boyfriend might be a slim blond who taught yoga for a living and had a penchant for pastel colours but he also ran marathons and had trophies for fencing and skiing and _nobody_ got to look at him like that.

_Typical closet case_, Quatre had said, after. _It's sad, really_, _don't you think? _

That put a whole new perspective on things, and Trowa had _really_ wanted to go and thump the guy.

He still did, and the idiot never seemed to get it. He was bad enough to take on a good day; after twenty-something hours with no sleep, he was impossible.

'No ride today?' Mueller asked as they walked out of the back door. The words were innocent enough, but the tone was slyly insinuating. 'That blond guy usually picks you up, doesn't he? Your…friend?'

'Boyfriend, actually.' Trowa corrected, just to watch the asshole's expression. 'I thought you knew that. And no, he doesn't collect me on Tuesdays. That's our bondage day so he's at home, handcuffed to the bed. It's been great chatting to you, but I'd better get back to him, really.'

That left Mueller spluttering and scarlet; Trowa gave him a wicked little grin. Hah! It got rid of him too; he stumbled over a goodbye and took off in the direction of his car.

Trowa watched him drive off, and then thought about the logistics of getting home. Quatre's place, rather. A taxi would be quick and convenient but there was always the danger of getting a garrulous driver and after talking – listening – to Mueller, he didn't feel up to listening to some random stranger's views on life. There was a bus that went near enough to Quat's but the service wasn't that frequent and the bus stop was frequented by chatty old ladies and the bus would be full of noisy school kids, this time of the morning.

Taxi, he decided, on balance, and screw the expense. It was the only problem with Quat's house; it was across town from the hospital, too far too cycle. He had his 'phone out, ready to dial when Heero's car pulled up beside him.

'I saw you'd finished,' his friend explained briefly. 'Thought I'd take a break.'

Trowa got in, nodding, appreciating that Heero didn't mention any of the rest of it. Even by the usual standards of Sanque General, it had been a hell of a shift.

'So,' Heero said as they drove out of the hospital. 'Quatre called me last night. He wants me to come to dinner on Thursday.'

'That's nice.'

'Hn.' Heero didn't sound overly thrilled. 'Who is it this time?'

'Who is who?'

Heero snorted. 'Who's he trying to set me up with now? It's not that Chinese guy again, is it? I thought he got the message after the last time.'

'What? Wufei's hot. Quat thought you'd like him.'

'He wanted to stick needles into me! On the first date!'

'Shocking. Needle penetration is only acceptable after the third date. Wufei must have thought you were a total slut, propositioning you like that.'

'That isn't funny.'

'Yeah, it is.' He'd have to remember that joke, to tell Quatre. _He'd_ laugh. 'Come _on_, Heero. He's a nice guy, and acupuncture's been around for hundreds of years. It's pretty well regarded as an alternative therapy.'

'Alternative idiocy! You'd never have said something like that before meeting Quatre,' Heero said pointedly. 'And I don't want to go out with Wufei again. Or the other one.'

'Zechs? He's gorgeous.'

Heero just sniffed. 'He's quite insane.'

'That's a bit steep, maybe.'

'He kept talking about Tantric yoga and then he offered me a sensual massage.'

'And you turned him down?' Trowa shook his head. 'You're nuts, Heero. I'd do Tantric yoga with him anytime, or massages, or anything else he was offering. I mean,' he added hastily, 'I would've, before Quat.'

'So, this dinner. It's just us? Or all of Quatre's flaky friends?'

'They're not flaky. Just…different.' And nice enough, really, once you didn't let them start talking about crystals or seaweed or Indian holistic treatments.

'Zechs gave me a healing crystal to counteract rays coming from my computer,' Heero said, in flat negation.

'Well, that was nice of him. And Quat just likes fixing people up.'

Heero sighed. 'So who is this new person I'm to meet?'

'There isn't one, so far as I know. Quat's just having a few people over. That Duo guy's going to be there. He's getting back from India tomorrow.'

Damn it. He'd actually managed to bury the thought of that for most of his shift.

'Ah. Your number one fan. I suppose Quatre's invited lots of other guests so you won't need to talk to each other.'

'Very funny. It'd be nice if you came, actually. I could do with one person on my side.'

'He's Quat's best friend. You're going to have to get on with him a bit better.'

'I've tried and he still hates my guts,' Trowa said flatly. 'If I try being nice to him, he tells Quatre I'm trying to hit on him again, and if I ignore him, he tells Quat I don't care enough about him to be make an effort with his friends.'

Heero started to laugh. 'Well, you _did_ hit on him the first time you met,' he smirked. 'In front of Quatre, no less.'

True enough, even if it had all been a misunderstanding and, mostly, Heero's own fault. It had turned out superlatively well though so, fair enough, Heero was entitled to gloat a bit.

Nearly three months ago, that had been. Another one of _those_ shifts; Heero had taken him out to a club they went to sometimes, where the music was almost loud enough to drown out any thoughts.

_They'd been standing at the bar, downing Glenfiddich single malt that was really far too good to be tossed back like it was cheap plonk. Trowa was trying hard, very hard, to focus on the burn as he swallowed, and the beat of the music, and the shouted conversation he was having with Heero about a film they both wanted to see._

_Trying very hard not to think about the last hour at work. She'd been five months old and the paramedics in the ambulance had already said she was gone. They'd still tried though; they always did with kids. As Trowa had walked out, he'd seen the police car arriving. He'd already heard the gossip in the locker room; the mother's boyfriend, who'd claimed he'd been trying to stop the baby crying, hadn't meant to hurt her._

_Trowa hated people sometimes. And Heero would be doing the autopsy the next morning. He drained his glass; ordered them both another. Fuck the expense. _

_Two years ago, when he'd first started at the hospital; a year, even, he might have been cruising someone by now. He'd moved past that phase, mostly. There'd been times when it had even helped a bit; a reminder of life and pleasure and intimacy. _

_He handed over the money for the insanely over-priced drinks and gave one to Heero. The barman wasn't bad, he thought, draining his glass. Short gelled hair; flirty smile. Nice ass in tight jeans. Could be way worse ways to spend the night._

_On cue, the guy turned around and smiled at him. 'Can I get you anything else?' Little smirk on his lips; one eyebrow raised. Not just drinks he was offering, clearly._

_Trowa propped his elbows on the bar, leaning in, looking at his name tag. 'That depends. What time d'you finish up here, Sam?'_

_The barman sighed theatrically. 'Late shift. Three am. I'm off tomorrow though; I can stay in bed all day if I like. Oh, excuse me a sec.' He gave Trowa another smile that was trying just a bit too hard to be charming and wistful, and moved down to serve a customer at the other end of the bar._

_Heero, at his elbow, sighed as well. 'Here we go again. If you're going to stay here and wait for him, I'm going home.'_

'_I'll come with you. Just let me finish this, OK?' Sam was already cosying up to the new guy he was serving, and it would be too depressing sitting on a bar stool by himself for two hours. _

'_All right.' Heero looked around, and then jerked his chin toward the other end of the bar. 'That guy keeps looking over at you. Do you know him?'_

_That guy. _

_Trowa'd noticed him when they came in. Of course he had; you couldn't not. There were two of them at the table and the blond was cute enough if you liked that type, Trowa thought, but the other guy was the one who glowed, who'd had every man in the place stopping to take a second look….There was the hair for a start, in a braid that you could use as a leash or a sex toy, and a lot of creamy skin on display under a microscopic top and ripped jeans. And that delectable, divine ass; Trowa could imagine being hip-deep in that and forgetting all the troubles in the universe._

_More than enough to make him forget the whole one-night-stand embargo._

_Oh, yeah._

_What the hell, fuck celibacy._

_He heard Heero laugh beside him, and tore his eyes – very reluctantly – upwards to find that the guy was giving him the finger. Well, that was as good an invitation as any. He plonked his empty glass on the bar and went hunting._

_He was even more gorgeous up close; blue eyes that glowed violet under the club's strobe lighting and were currently spitting fury. ''Where the __**fuck**__ do you get off, you asshole, staring at me like I'm a piece of meat?'_

_Trowa grinned at him. 'Sorry; you're wearing that outfit in a gay club because you __**don't**__ want people looking at you?'_

_If he hadn't known Heero for years, the guy's glare might have been marginally more effective. _

'_You think I'm __**asking**__ for jerks like you to get their rocks off staring at me?' he demanded. 'I've got a right to wear whatever I want.'_

_Trowa shrugged, knowing he was being obnoxious, not caring overmuch. Another time, he might have felt like screwing all the temper out of him, but he wasn't in the mood for putting up with someone else's bad humour; not tonight. ''You are, certainly, but if you want to put yourself on display like that, the rest of the world is entitled to enjoy the view. And I gather you've been looking at me so you can't really talk.'_

'_Dream on,' the guy said scornfully. 'I was trying to get the __**barman **__to come over. I've better things to do than look at the likes of you.'_

'_Duo!' someone said, shocked. _

_Oh. _

_It was the little blond guy. Not really his type, Trowa thought, giving him a quick up-and-down appraisal, but not bad. Not bad at all.. _

'_Leave it,' Duo said shortly, looking at Trowa looking at his friend, 'This guy's just going.'_

'_I just got here.' Trowa leaned against the bar, smiling down at the blond. 'You want to dance?'_

_Blondie looked a little uncertain, glancing at his friend and then back at Trowa. _

'_No, he damn well doesn't,' Duo chipped in. 'Not with an asshole like you. He's got better taste.'_

'_He can't speak for himself?' Trowa asked softly. He wasn't looking at Duo though. He didn't normally go for blonds, but this one was a serious honey._

'_I'd love to dance,' Blondie said with a sudden burst of decision._

_It was stupid and petty, but as he walked off with the blond's hand in his, he couldn't, for the life of him, stop turning back and giving Duo a smirk, just to see his expression. The brief little flare of triumph carried him all the way to the dance floor in the middle of the room, at which point he realised he really didn't want to dance at all. _

_There was one streetlight in the alley, turning the blond's hair to shining gold. He hadn't objected to Trowa leading him outside, didn't object either when Trowa backed him against the wall of the building. Trowa rested his palms against the rough stonework and leaned in. The first kiss was a tease, to see how he'd react; just a light peck on the corner of his mouth. That was what Trowa had meant it to be, anyway. _

_He hadn't quite bargained for how the blond would react; that his lips would part at the first touch, or how very good he'd smell, or the clear aquamarine of his eyes, the colour of seafoam in sunlight. _

_Oh, God, just perfect, Trowa thought hazily, tugging him closer. Perfect; more than enough to make him rethink his policy of not having sex with random strangers. Stupid damn rule. He ran his free hand – the other one was entangled in that bright hair – over the blond's exquisite ass, and then felt his companion tense. Not in a good way. _

_Not the sort of guy who went in for sex with total strangers in back alleyways, then. Trowa wasn't either, really, but it had happened a couple of times nonetheless._

_Damn._

_He carefully moved his hand out of the danger zone, resting it on the blond's hip, and pulled back a little bit, not remotely threatening. 'OK? Sorry.'_

'_It's all right.' He was smiling. _

_Good recovery; as if that little flare of panic had never been. Nice smile – if Trowa wasn't flattering himself overmuch, it held maybe even a shade of regret. A little relief as well, that he'd backed off straightaway. _

'_You know, if you'd wanted to know if I'd had my tonsils out, you could have just asked.'_

_That made Trowa laugh. OK, this one was really growing on him. 'I'm a doctor,' he said smoothly. 'I like to check things out myself. What's your name?'_

'_Quatre Raberba Winner.' He said it very properly, as if they were at a garden party, as if they hadn't had their tongues down each other's throats a minute ago._

'_I'm Trowa. 'You want to get a drink or something?'_

_That had been it, really. There weren't that many places open at 1 am; places where you could sit and talk. They'd found a café that served muddy, tepid coffee and stale pastries, but none of that had mattered. They'd sat at a sticky, stained plastic table and started to learn about each other._

_It was normally awkward; trying to make small talk with someone when you'd just been trying to stick your tongue so far down his throat it might come out through his belly-button, and you really just wanted to do more of the same, but you were expected to be interested in where they'd grown up and what they liked to do at the weekend._

_It was different with Quatre. For one thing, they didn't really talk at all, just sat and looked at each other. Trowa was still a bit dizzy at the sheer wonder of finding him, and he thought Quatre felt the same. _

_He hadn't thought it would be like this. _

_Duo had called Quatre's phone a few minutes after they'd sat down, and from Quat's responses - 'I'm fine'; 'We're just having coffee. Yes, there are lots of other people around' and 'No, Duo! Of course he's not drugging my drink!' and 'Duo! I'm quite capable of taking care of myself!'- he'd gathered that Duo was a protective friend, and that Quatre thought that he was too much so, and that - just possibly - a part of why Quatre had gone off with him had been because Duo had warned him off._

They hadn't had sex – properly – in a bed – for another couple of weeks, but that hadn't stopped Duo from carrying on like Quat had been a sheltered, shrinking virgin, and Trowa the moustache-twirling cad who'd abducted him and deflowered him by force.

In reality, they had fairly similar histories, sexually – a bit of experimentation as teenagers, trying to work out who they were, what they wanted; then flings at university and then a few longer-term relationships in their twenties that hadn't worked out for one reason or another.

They'd both been with one partner who'd cheated.

Quatre was probably a bit more experienced, just because Trowa had had part-time jobs all the way through uni, and that hadn't left a huge amount of time for socialising, and the first couple of years after qualifying had been devoted to getting his bank loans paid off.

Admittedly, there had been what Heero called the 'man-slut phase' but it hadn't really lasted all that long, and it hadn't been about relationships; just the sex, and a lot of the time it had been pretty drunken and forgettable and regrettable.

'Trowa? Heero looked at him, faintly concerned, and the car had stopped moving. 'You OK? I thought maybe you'd fallen asleep.'

'Thinking about Quat.'

'You're lucky. You know that?'

'I do. Very much. See you on Thursday, right?'

Heero groaned. 'Do I have to?'

'Yes. It's one meal. He's going to be staying with Quat, so I'll have to put up with him whenever I'm there.'

'Doesn't he have his own place?'

'Says he's not in Sanque often enough to get somewhere.'

And why bother when he could install himself in Quatre's house whenever he wanted? He had the cheek to call Trowa a gold-digger; he was the one who sponged off Quat. Bloody homeless vagrant.

'So you'll be coming home then?'

'Yeah, tomorrow probably.'

Heero nodded. 'Good. I've missed having Allie around.'

That made him feel a tiny big guilty; OK, officially Allie was his dog, but he and Heero had always shared her. 'I know. It's just easier leaving her at Quat's when we're both working double shifts; there's a garden and she gets on with his dog.'

He waved Heero off, and stood on the pavement. He'd been dreaming about this moment for hours, in the scant, spare minutes when his brain had had time to think of anything outside the hospital. Weaving fantasies about bed and hot food and a hot bath, with Quatre's bright smile threaded through all of them.

Quatre.

He just had to walk up the flight of stairs to Quat's front door. He took a deep breath, not wanting to bring all of the darkness and exhaustion into Quatre's home, his life. He stopped himself just before he pushed the bell, and fumbled in his back pocket instead for the shiny new key. It still seemed a bit presumptuous just letting himself in. Quatre liked him to use the key, though, and he compromised by calling out as he walked through the door.

Then the dogs were there; his own Golden Retriever launching herself at him and Quat's Saluki, every bit as golden and graceful as her master, circling them both. He pushed Allie off, and held out one hand to Sumayra, ridiculously gratified when she sniffed it, granting him one small wave of her feathered tale.

Seducing Quat had been a hell of a lot easier than winning his dog over, Trowa reflected wryly. But then Quat had been susceptible to certain blandishments that were wholly inappropriate (not to say illegal) for a purebred Saluki with an ancestry that went back centuries.

He ruffled her ears – the exact colour of Quat's hair – and she actually gave him a tiny lick. Both dogs trailed him downstairs. Quat was chopping fruit at the table; barefoot, slouchy combats, a hot-pink t-shirt with an anime character on the front. The day got incrementally better; a lot more so when Quatre jumped up and kissed him, tasting of strawberries.

Quat, the ideal boyfriend for a doctor who'd had a bad day, didn't ask questions or commiserate or try to trot out platitudes about how he'd done his best. Later, when Trowa was ready, he'd listen.

Instead, he waited for Trowa to sit down and handed him a green drink 'avocado smoothie with wheat germ' (It tasted better than it sounded. Or looked.) and Trowa took a long swallow. It was nice being here. Quatre's kitchen led into an orangery (the posh word for a conservatory) and it was flooded with early morning sunlight, dappling the tiled floor and picking up the gold in Quatre's hair.

Heero was right; he was lucky. Aware of it, too; most of the time. Allie milled around his feet for a minute, snuffling, and then wandered off to lie in a pool of sunshine.

'She's tired.'

'I took them both running with me,' Quatre said, smiling. 'And then to the studio. I was taking the sunrise class.'

'Oh, God.' Trowa looked over at Allie, who was mostly Golden Retriever with a bit of tornado thrown in, and winced, imagining how much havoc she could create in Quat's studio, which was full of scented candles and artwork and delicate, breakable things. 'How much damage did she do?'

'She behaved perfectly. Of course, she might have been too tired to do anything else.' He pushed a bowl of chopped fruit across the table. 'I thought pancakes for breakfast. Would you like to shower first?'

Trowa ate a strawberry; it tasted like Quat. God, he was tired. Berries were this month's thing; a step up from March's flax seed oil craze, and streets ahead of that gunky seaweed supplement Quat had raved about in February; he was a health food nut, and had a disconcerting habit of believing everything on the internet.

Berries were good.

'Food would be great. If I go upstairs, I'll probably fall flat on the bed and not get up.'

'Hmm.' Quatre grinned. 'That does sound promising.'

'Give me a few hours' sleep and something to eat, and I'll show you _promising_. I'm wrecked and all I've had in the past twelve hours was a crappy sandwich from the canteen.'

Quatre tutted at that, and Trowa just sat back, picking at his fruit and letting Quat fuss over him, and talk about how terrible it was that a hospital didn't serve decent, nutritious meals for over-worked employees, and how he'd got some sort of special mineral supplement for the dogs from a friend, and an article he'd read about the benefits of strawberry seeds. (Trowa had a sudden mad image of him sitting at his table and painstakingly de-seeding his way through a punnet of strawberries.)

It was all good, really. Quatre didn't expect him to respond to any of it so Trowa could slouch back in his chair and rest a foot on Allie's stomach and enjoy watching his boyfriend move around.

Quat still had a bit of a tan from New Year on his family's yacht in the Seychelles (it did his head in, sometimes; how different their lives were) and he'd painted his toenails to match his t-shirt. Very sexy.

Very sexy altogether, he was, Trowa reflected, enjoying the view as Quat bent over to get something out of the fridge, and he got a glimpse of something under his boyfriend's combats; a wisp of dark blue silk with a little ruffle on the edge.

Oh, God.

He hadn't even known that sort of sexy underwear was a turn-on 'til he'd met Quat, but it seriously, _seriously_ was. That little thong of his with the feathers had become one of Trowa's favourite items in the whole universe.

Now, just that tiny glimpse had all sorts of fantasies hurtling through his brain. Yeah, he could bring Quat off with his mouth, through the sheer fabric, and then turn him over and God, he could already imagine the luxurious slide of silk against himself; the scratch and pull of the lace.

'Well. I thought you were tired.' Quatre was smiling as he put a bowl of cream on the table.

'Not that tired. Never that tired.' He reached out to hook one finger through Quatre's waistband. 'Come here. You're gorgeous. And I've got the next forty-eight hours off,' he added, gloating. 'You won't object to me keeping you in bed for all of it, will you?'

'Absolutely not. At least, I have two classes this afternoon at the studio, but I'm sure you'll be asleep by then, and I'll just have to run out for a couple of hours tonight to pick up Duo from the airport; but otherwise I'm totally yours for as long as you like.'

Duo. Fucking clown, Trowa thought sourly. So much for having Quat to himself for a couple of days; Maxwell would be cock-blocking him all over the place.

'You just need to get to know each other a little bit,' Quat said softly, looking at his expression, pressing a series of tantalisingly slow, suggestive kisses down Trowa's neck. 'I'm sure you just need to spend a little more time together.'

'The guy hates me,' Trowa said bleakly. It was hard to hold on to any Duo-inspired bitterness though; given what Quat was doing. 'I was thinking, it'd probably be easier if I didn't spend so much time here, when he's around. I should go home for a bit anyway; do laundry, hang out with Heero. You could come over for a change.'

They'd started off spending alternate nights at each other's home, but lately the balance had shifted a bit in favour of Quat's; he had a massive bed, and a proper bath-tub, and a swing-seat in his back garden that wasn't overlooked by his neighbours. All good things.

'Oh, Trowa' Quat's beautiful eyes gazed at him sadly. 'Please don't. I'd hate to think you're leaving because of my best friend. I'd love the two of you to get on. Duo doesn't really hate you at all. It's just that you don't know each other proplerly.'

Trowa wasn't sure about that, but was getting to the point of having more important things to focus on. He had Quatre in his lap, and one hand, sliding under his waistband, meeting warm, soft skin and then something deliciously silky, making him smile.

Maxwell wouldn't be arriving for hours, yet, and he wasn't remotely tired anymore and he had a fantasy to fulfil.

'You're wearing way too much, Quat,' he whispered, and then Quat was squirming in his lap, wriggling out of his trousers.


	2. Chapter 2

Note: Many thanks to KS for helping with this one and, you know, that other story.

**Chapter 2/2:**

It was seven by Trowa's watch when he woke up. The curtains were closed and it took a few seconds to work out whether it was morning or evening. Not morning, he decided; he didn't think he'd slept for the bulk of eighteen hours, didn't have that bleary feeling you got from being asleep so long.

Quatre would have woken him for dinner at some point, probably. Quatre. He wasn't there, but his last memory, before sleep, was of the blond curling against him. _Nice_ memory, that; the way Quat fitted against him, head tucked into Trowa's shoulder, the smell of vanilla and citrus shampoo teasing his nostrils.

They'd managed to amass quite a few nice memories, given that he'd been falling asleep when he first got home. He'd found another brief surge of energy after breakfast and showering; enough to lay Quat out on the mattress and make him sigh and moan and beg for a commendably long time, given that he'd been asleep on his feet such a short time previously.

By then, though, he'd pretty much been at the point where sleep deprivation became a habit. Every cell in his body had been craving sleep, but it just wasn't happening. Quatre had got up to make them both herbal tea, and he remembered drinking it, the two of them talking, but not what they'd talked about.

It had been nice, though, sitting up in Quat's bed against a pile of pillows, with Quat leaning on his chest. Not sexual, even though they'd both been naked, and not really all that romantic either. Intimate, maybe.

In a minute, Trowa thought, stretching, he'd get up and find Quatre. It was seven o'clock and somehow that seemed significant but he couldn't imagine why because he'd finished his shift and….

Oh, shit.

They were going out; they'd planned it a couple of days ago. Some Italian film festival and dinner. He'd been the one to suggest it, browsing through cinema listings in the local paper. It would be a nice evening; a movie classic and then dinner at an Italian restaurant. He liked Fellini; he liked pasta; it had seemed like a great idea for a date.

It didn't any more, when he could honestly think of nothing he'd rather do than laze around at home and ring for a take away and find a DVD they both fancied watching and not have to get dressed and go out again.

Quatre was in the living room when he went down, curled up on the couch with his laptop resting across his knees. He looked up with a faint frown between his brows and the slightly glazed look of someone who'd been staring at a computer screen for too long. 'Hi. Did you sleep well?'

'Oh, yeah.' Trowa sat on the arm of the sofa, bent to kiss him. 'What are you up to?'

Quatre made a face. 'Accounts. Ugh. I do wish more people would take up yoga.'

'New businesses always take a while to get off the ground. You know that.' He kissed Quatre again, about the only thing he could do to help. He knew how important it was to Quat, to make a success of his own business; to prove he could do it without family help or handouts.

Quatre smiled. 'I know, but I never thought the studio would end up haemorrhaging money quite so badly.'

'There were a few nurses reading those fliers I put up last night,' Trowa offered. 'They sounded pretty interested, but they don't have a lot of free time, most of them. I was wondering, maybe you could do classes at the hospital at lunchtime or whatever. There's a tonne of space. Some of the more mobile patients might like it as well. Be good therapy, right?'

'I could do that,' Quatre said brightening. 'It's a wonderful idea. Thank you. I could give some sort of special group rates if enough people are interested.'

'Good way to de-stress in the middle of a shift,' Trowa commented.

'Would you be interested? If I did start a class?'

Trowa shook his head. 'If I was free, yeah, but you know what my schedule's like. I'd never be able to commit to any one time. Besides, I kind of like the way you de-stress me when I get home.'

'Mm. So do I.' Quatre closed off his spreadsheet and put the computer on the coffee table. 'I hadn't realised it was so late. We should probably be getting ready to go. The restaurant's booked for eight, isn't it?'

'Yeah, I think so.' Trowa said it without overmuch enthusiasm.

Quatre tilted his head, looking at him. 'Would you rather not go? We don't have to.'

'It's OK. We've got reservations and tickets. Pity to waste them.'

'Oh. All right.' Quat leaned back against his arm. 'I'd be quite happy to stay in, if you're tired. There's still some of that lasagne you made in the fridge and I've got garlic bread in the freezer.'

'Or we can order in, if you like? You're sure you don't mind?'

'I am totally positive,' Quatre assured him. 'If you're not too tired to go out, _I_ am. I'd really rather not spend any more hours staring at a screen and I have to get up before three anyway to collect Duo.'

'That's sorted then,' Trowa said firmly, skating over the mention of Duo. If he only had Quat to himself for a few hours, he wasn't going to spoil them by thinking about Duo Maxwell. 'What d'you fancy for dinner?'

An hour later, they had an assortment of Indian dishes around them and some sitcom Quat liked on the TV. It was perfect, way better than a fancy restaurant and a crowded cinema.

It was – different. They'd spent nights in before, in each other's homes, but it had usually been based around sex, and then falling asleep out of sheer exhaustion. Not just talking and trying different foods and bickering over the remote control and trying to keep the dogs away from the food. Allie anyway; Sumarya was way too dignified to beg.

The first couple of weeks had mostly been getting-to-know-you sorts of conversations. They'd agreed to take things slowly so they'd set up elaborate dates and things had gone slowly enough in the sense that they'd never technically been naked or in bed together. That had still left a fair amount of potential, though, and at one point – in the backseat of Quat's car - they'd looked at each other and laughed and decided _slowly_ wasn't working out, and was highly over-rated anyway.

Then there'd been a couple of weeks when they'd spent every spare moment in bed and naked and their respective friends had started to worry if they'd ever see them again.

Things had pretty much levelled out eventually to a perfectly acceptable blend of sex and dates and meeting each other's groups of friends but never really got to the point of cosy evenings in with the TV and a takeaway.

Not 'til now.

'So,' Quatre said casually, leaning over for some more rice, 'just hypothetically, if I said how very nice this is, would you rush off into the night screaming?'

The question was well-timed; Trowa had just taken a bite of Naan bread; chewing it gave him space to think of something to say. 'You've been talking to Duo again.'

'Well. And a few other people.'

Not a huge amount he could really say to that. 'I'm not planning to run off on you. Shit, is that something you really think I'll do?'

'You do have … something of a reputation,' Quat said carefully.

'I had a year or so when I did some stupid stuff. I don't do that any more. I'm here because I want to be with you, I _like_ being around you. I won't head for the door just because you say you like that too.'

'That's good. In that case, this is very enjoyable. May I have some of that chicken please?'

'Here you go.' Trowa passed it over. 'I think it's nice too. Being here. You know.'

Quat was better at talking about it, at the whole _relationship_ thing, really. Trowa had done it once, seriously; had fallen hard and been badly hurt. Since then, there'd been no one special; casual hook-ups aplenty because they didn't mean anything.

He hadn't expected to meet anyone in a club, late at night. Hadn't expected it would be like that; no thunderclaps or tsunamis or massive shifts of the Earth's tectonic plates.

Just a quiet voice saying another man's name.

It had happened though, and now he was eating Chicken Biryani three months later and half-watching some stupid show and he couldn't imagine not having Quat in his life.

'I'm glad.' Quatre looked up from his plate, and smiled, and then shifted closer. Trowa slipped an arm around his waist, and got Quat's bright head on his shoulder in exchange. He could imagine being here in winter, with a fire roaring, and maybe they could get a (fake) fur rug for the floor, and he could buy Quat a (fake) fur thong or something, or drape him in tinsel, and they could make mulled wine and play duets of Christmas carols.

Quatre blew in his ear gently. 'What's that smile for?'

Trowa felt his grin widen. 'Some kind of Hollywood Christmas fantasy. A sort-of X-rated one.'

'That sounds intriguing.' Quatre wriggled a bit against him, and ended up on the floor with his head in Trowa's lap. 'Christmas is nine months away, you know.'

'Yeah. I know. Still, would be kind of nice to do something. The two of us.'

It was the nearest they'd come, so far, to talking about the future, or commitment. Anything really.

Quatre looked up at him, expression slightly uncertain. 'Mr. Barton, are you asking me out?'

'We've already done the whole going out thing, don't you think? I'm asking you to stay in sometimes, with me. As well as going out together. Just the two of us,' he added. He was pretty sure that Quat hadn't been seeing anyone else on the side since they'd met, but they hadn't ever discussed it.

'So,' Quat said, suddenly crisp, 'you are proposing an exclusive and possibly long-term arrangement?'

Trowa burst out laughing; he forgot sometimes that Quat, in a brief, previous incarnation, had been an accountant. 'Pretty much.'

'Yes, then.'

OK, he'd known – almost known – that Quat would agree, but it was still a relief. 'You're sure? You don't want to hold out for someone else? A surgeon maybe?'

Quatre grimaced. 'I dated a surgeon once. Very kinky. Not in a good way. I think I like paediatricians better. They're kind.'

'Am I kind?'

'Very much, yes.'

'Well. Good to hear it. What exactly are you looking so smug about?'

Quatre smiled up at him creamily, Cheshire-Cat style. 'Why wouldn't I be smug? I've got you. And I think we should celebrate a little.'

'Oh, I knew there was a reason why I liked being with you,' Trowa said. 'You have the best ideas.'

And the worst, Trowa thought blearily, several hours later, fumbling through the jumble of possessions on Quat's dresser to find his blaring alarm clock. Shit. Bloody Maxwell. Why the hell couldn't he have got a flight that arrived at a civilised hour? Or stayed in a hotel? Or just stayed in Bombay or wherever he'd been? That would have been the best option of all.

And Quat was still sleeping blissfully, despite having an alarm that sounded like an air raid siren on acid.

'Quat?' He finally found the off switch on the damn thing, and turned on the bedside light. 'Hon? You awake?'

'Hmm?' Quatre blinked at the bright light, and then turned over, burying his head in the pillows.

'Quatre,' Trowa persisted, shaking his shoulder gently. 'You've to pick up Duo, remember? At the airport?'

'Mmm. Yes. Just a minute. Love you.'

Oh, fuck.

Trowa moved his hand, and took a step backwards. They hadn't said it yet, although he supposed they'd both implied it at different times; things they'd said or done for each other.

It was different hearing it said out loud, even if Quat was pretty much in a coma, and probably had no clue what he was saying.

Not like no-one had ever said it to him before, but generally in the middle of sex, or when they'd been drunk. Not curled up around a pillow. Not saying it like it was the most natural thing in the universe.

'Quat?' He steeled himself, touched his boyfriend's shoulder again. 'Duo, remember? You need to get up.'

'Mmm.' He turned over, finally; all tousled hair and perfect, peachy skin, and opened his eyes just a little. 'Time is it, Tro?'

'Half two, almost.' Trowa watched him yawn and stretch and felt a bitter little spurt of guilt. He was the one who'd kept Quat awake for hours, knowing he'd hardly have time to sleep before he had to get up again. And he was already regretting what he was about to say. 'Look, it's OK. Go back to sleep. I'm awake now; I'll go and collect Duo.'

'But you don't like him.'

'More he doesn't like me,' Trowa countered grimly. 'And it doesn't matter. We can put up with each other for an hour or so. We'll survive. You don't mind me taking your car, do you?'

'No.' Quatre's expression was a confused mixture of confusion, affection, drowsiness. Cute. 'Are you sure?'

'Sure, honey. You go back to sleep. Won't be long.'

The drive was nice actually. Mostly deserted streets, with just a few other cars and one lightning-fast russet streak; a fox flashing across the road in front of him. The airport was quiet too, this early in the morning, with only the flight from India scheduled before seven am. Trowa leaned over the barrier, waiting. It would probably take Duo a while to go through passport control and get his luggage.

He looked good when he finally walked out; not like he'd been flying for however long. He was walking beside an elderly lady, helping her with her suitcase. He looked _very_ good actually, Trowa thought, before abruptly remembering he wasn't allowed to have those sorts of thoughts, and slamming a drawbridge down on them. But, if you didn't know him, there was no denying that Duo Maxwell was extremely attractive.

Shame his personality didn't match the highly decorative exterior.

Duo put down the suitcase and stood, laughing, while his new friend reached up to kiss his cheek. Like a favourite grandson, Trowa thought sourly, and then watched Duo turn that bright smile on the young guy who walked up to hug the old lady; the real grandson, probably. There was a handshake that went on for just a shade too long, under Granny's approving gaze, as the guy thanked Duo far too enthusiastically for his kindness, and Duo just stood there with that dazzling grin, and laughed it off.

Typical; he set out to charm everyone in the known universe except Trowa.

Duo waved his latest conquest off, settled the strap of his bag more comfortably on his shoulder, and then looked around. Searching for Quat, clearly; his gaze skimmed over Trowa the first time and then swung back.

Trowa walked over, trying not to mind the other man's appalled expression. 'Hey. Welcome back to Sanque.'

Duo glared. 'Where's Quat? Minding the car?'

Trowa considered, just for a second, making another crack about S&M Day and Quatre being cuffed to the bed, but Duo would probably swing for him. 'He's at home. I offered to come and get you instead.'

'What's wrong with him?'

'Nothing. He had a long day and he was wrecked and I really didn't like the idea of him driving when he was still half-asleep.' He jabbed one finger toward the exit doors. 'If you can't stand the idea of being with me for half an hour, there's a taxi rank outside. Or the buses start running at six.'

Duo fiddled with the strap of his camera case and took a step toward him. 'I'm tired too, OK?'

It was an oblique sort of apology but probably the friendliest thing Duo had ever said to him in three months. 'No bother. Long flight?'

'Two stopovers and a delay in Dubai.' Duo put down his duffle and stretched. 'God, I _hate_ flying and those crappy airline seats and no freaking legroom and the plastic food, don't you?'

Idiot. No idea how lucky he was, getting the chance to be up there, in the clouds.

'I don't know,' he said, trying not to let Duo hear how he felt. The guy had been trying, probably, and maybe if you did have to fly a lot, for work, you might get sick of it. 'I've never been in a plane. I'd like to, one day.' He knew Quatre loved it, even had his pilot's licence, but it was probably different if you could fly your father's private jet, or had only ever travelled first class.

'No? Should get Quat to take you up some time.'

'Yeah.' Trowa opened the passenger door for him, and Duo obligingly fell asleep – or pretended to, anyway – as soon as he got in. That neatly took care of any awkwardness on the drive home and he could go straight to bed once they got back.

Duo woke up as soon as Trowa parked at Quat's house; he'd been faking then, and frowned when Trowa followed him in the front door. 'What, you live here now?'

Truce over, then. 'I could ask you the same question.'

Duo gave him a beatific smile, tinged with evil. 'I do live here when I'm in Sanque, yes. I'm sure Quat mentioned it.'

OK, Trowa did a slow count to ten. Quatre wouldn't like it too much if he came down in the morning to see the dead body of his best friend in the hall. He'd have to take precautions; get Heero to help dispose of the body. They could probably fudge the paperwork in the morgue.

He was great with the dogs; crouching down to pet Sumarya, who obviously adored him, and scratching that exact spot on Allie's spine that reduced her to ecstasy. Traitor, although in fairness Golden Retrievers weren't exactly discriminating. Allie would have happily gone off with a serial killer if he'd offered her a biscuit and stroked her ears a bit.

'Where's Quat?'

'In bed, asleep, I imagine. That's where he was when I left. Go up and check if you want.'

Duo hesitated. 'I won't wake him up if he's that wrecked. Is he really OK?'

'Yeah. Just a bit stressed earlier about the studio. It's not doing too well.'

'Oh?' He gave Sumarya a last pat on the head and stood up. 'Well, I suppose it's not like he'll be sleeping on the streets if it doesn't work out. He can just go back to work for Daddy's company.'

'Do you even _know_ him?' Trowa snapped, unable to stop himself. 'Do you have any idea how much this means to him?'

'I do, actually. Just wasn't sure if you did.'

Oh.

Duo was actually grinning at him.

Fancy that.

'You want tea or something before you go to bed?'

Duo clearly thought about it, probably suspecting an attempt to poison him, and then nodded. 'Yeah. Thanks.'

Trowa made tea and then remembered Duo complaining about airline food, and heated up some lasagne as well, and added a good splodge of tomato ketchup because Duo liked it on everything.

He took the tray into Quat's sitting room; Duo was ensconced in his own usual chair, both dogs curled at his feet. It took an effort not to resent that.

'Here you are. I thought you might be hungry.'

Duo took the tray, looking at the plate of food suspiciously. 'What's that?'

'It's called lasagne. A type of baked pasta dish; I'm sure you've had it before. For the record, it's vegetarian and organic and gluten free and all the rest of it. You don't have to eat it, if you don't want to.'

'I'm not hungry,' Duo muttered, but he picked up a fork and poked at it anyway.

'Don't eat it then,' Trowa said shortly. 'Good night. I suppose I'll see you tomorrow.'

'Suppose.' Duo sounded less than enthralled by the idea. 'You're planning on staying the night then?'

'I've been staying over a lot lately. I'm sure Quat mentioned it. Look, what _exactly_ is your problem? Are you jealous, is that it? You want him for yourself?'

'I've known him for ten years. If I'd wanted him, believe me, I could have had him. I just don't want you having him.'

Trowa was halfway to the door when he turned back. Yeah, it was bloody tempting just to stalk out, but Duo would just be there in the morning. The whole mess would still be there.

'All right. I know that you don't like me. I even understand why, partly. But Quat and I are together for the foreseeable future. I don't really give a toss how you feel about me, but it's awkward for him if his best friend and his boyfriend can't actually be in the same room for five minutes without wanting to kill one another. Do you think we could settle for some sort of armed neutrality or something?'

Duo shrugged. 'Doubt it.'

Trowa took a deep breath. Quatre liked the guy, for some unfathomable reason, and Duo didn't seem willing even to try to meet him halfway, so it was up to him. 'OK. I was a jerk to you the first time we met. I get that. I'm sorry. I'd had a crappy day at work, and I took it out on you.'

'You think I care about how you acted to me?' Duo's lip curled. 'I _care_ that Quatre isn't the sort of guy who just lets random strangers pick him up and goes off with them. That's not what he's like.'

'I know he's not. But it's not like I exactly forced him to go anywhere with me.'

'He's not like that,' Duo said, again, more forcefully. 'He's … careful.'

'He trusted me,' Trowa said simply. 'Duo, he's smart. He's good at reading people.'

'Not always.' Duo looked down at his plate, at the sheet of lasagne he'd dowsed in ketchup.

_Shit. _

He didn't for the life of him know why, but he suddenly remembered something Quat had said earlier, about the surgeon he'd dated once. Quatre was a sweetheart; warm and thoughtful and funny and far too generous for his own good. Sure, he had a couple of little kinks and thought he was a bit more adventurous than he actually was, but he also had very definite limits to be respected, and Trowa had a sudden, sickening realisation how someone could take advantage of all that, could have exploited him.

'He was with someone once who….wasn't kind?' he asked, using Quatre's own word.

Duo just shrugged again, probably perilously close to breaking a confidence and regretting he'd said even that much.

It didn't matter; Trowa could put the pieces together on his own account. Quat had told him he'd been in a relationship that had ended badly, although hadn't gone into any other detail except to say it hadn't lasted for long. He'd been strong enough and smart enough to get out early, and it had left him a little reserved rather than overly traumatised.

'I'm not like that.'

'I've asked people about you,' Duo said. 'I know what you're like and you're not his type. He doesn't need to fall for you, and then get hurt because you get bored with him and move on to someone else.'

'I've been with him for three months now. Yeah, I know it's not that long, really, but it's obviously more for me than a one night thing. And yeah, I did go through a year or so when I was all over the place but I'd just qualified and I was learning to deal with my job and I didn't have time to do the whole relationship thing and I did sleep around, but it wasn't like I was making promises of commitment to anyone, and none of the guys I was with expected any.'

Duo actually nodded. 'I don't think I could do your job.'

'Well, I'm pretty sure I couldn't do yours either,' he said honestly. 'And it's different with Quat. I'm different. I like him a lot. I wouldn't hurt him.'

'If you do, I'll hurt you. I'm serious.'

'OK.' Trowa took a deep breath, held it. He supposed he could live with Duo in his position as Quat's over-protective, over-possessive best friend if he had to. 'He could hurt me just as easily, you know. He could fall for somebody else tomorrow; he could just decide he deserves better.'

'Which he does,' Duo said promptly. 'That was too easy, Barton.'

'Way to fall for a set-up, Maxwell,' Trowa retorted, and Duo grinned at him. It looked a bit reluctant, but real enough.

Definite progress.

'So, is it safe for me to go upstairs without having to worry about you sneaking into the bedroom with the carving knife?'

Duo thought about it. 'Quat wouldn't like blood all over his sheets. You're safe enough.'

A bit better than armed neutrality, Trowa decided; at least they were making jokes. Well, it was probably a joke.

'OK, good. If you're staying up for a bit, can you put the dogs to bed and turn out the lights and stuff?'

Duo gave him a pained look. 'I've lived here longer than you. I know what to do.'

'Right. Sorry. See you in the morning.'

'See you,' Duo echoed.

Not madly enthusiastic, but the friendlier side of resigned. That would do for now.

Duo was marginally less homicidal towards him and his lovely Quatre was in bed and asleep and would probably appreciate a nice bout of morning sex in a few hours' time.

All good, really.


End file.
